


Straining

by DefaltManifesto



Series: 30 Day Song Lyric Challenge [29]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Rough Sex, Self-Hatred, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 19:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13196853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefaltManifesto/pseuds/DefaltManifesto
Summary: Jill’s not sure she’s worth tenderness. Not anymore.





	Straining

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nuanta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuanta/gifts).



> Notes on Jill's dissociation at the end if you need a trigger warning. 
> 
> Today's fic is actually gifted to Nuanta who was like: hey you should write about Jill
> 
> And I was like: oh write something painfully sad and angsty got it
> 
> Today's is probably my favorite that I've written. I think. It's hard to know because I've written so much this month but like. I LOVED writing this fic. It's based on the following lyric from State Of The Art by Jim James:
> 
> "And I'm straining to remember/just what it means to be alive"
> 
> Also I was listening to All I Know by The Weeknd when I wrote this which has the musical, though not lyrical, vibe of this fic. I highly recommend putting that in your ears while you read.

Jill doesn’t look at him when they fuck. She prefers to have him fuck her from behind so she can bury her face in the sheets and focus on the feelings he gives her body instead of the feelings he gives her mind.

Sometimes they fuck against the wall though. She likes that too because the rough wood of their home bites into her back and leaves marks she can feel for days after. It’s harder though because sometimes between slamming her head back against the wall and burying her face in his neck, their eyes meet and she shakes as her brain connects back with her body. Sometimes it’s jarring enough she shoves him away and tugs her clothes back on. Then it’s out to the small training space they’ve cleared in the back so she can exhaust her body a different way.

They sleep in the same bed. She has her own room but she can’t bring herself to sleep in a bed all by herself. It reminds her that she’s alone and that her father is dead and her allies who’d made her feel like she belonged are all back in their own countries and her own country is in shambles. There’s comfort in feeling his body beneath the sheets even if there’s no comfort in him.

She stares at him when she can’t sleep. Not his face because that makes her thoughts and more rise to the surface, but the rest of his body. She traces his scars with her eyes. She thinks about tracing them with her lips but that’s not something they do with each other. There’s nothing tender in what they have. It’s just two lonely people trying to cope with their grief as they mourn their friends, family, and country.

Jill’s not sure she’s worth tenderness. Not anymore.

No one who kills their own father is worth anything.

 

-.-

 

Haar doesn’t look at her when they fuck. He wants to more than anything, wants to bring her comfort instead of just distraction but she so stubbornly avoids looking him in the eye he’s not sure if it’d hurt her more if he tried.

So instead, he lets her use him. It’s not an entirely selfless act, not when he can feel the same grief and loneliness she feels. The moments they’re together, those feelings are pushed aside and he loses himself in how she feels around him and the way her nails always scratch open his back and sides. Sometimes he bruises her hips. He watches from the bed as she examines them in the mirror one morning, watches her face flush as she presses them, watches her eyes goes dark with lust and then blank as they slide over to look at him in the mirror.

It’s no surprise when she slides back into bed and gets him hard with her mouth before straddling him and sinking down on his cock. She grabs his hands and makes him press on the bruises. Her eyes stay glued to the ceiling. It makes his heart ache because he wants to make her look at him, wants her to acknowledge what they’re doing, what _she’s_ doing. Wants her to let herself feel something.

His hand slides up to twist through the tangled locks of her red hair at her waist. Before he loses his nerve, he yanks. She gasps and tightens down around him as she looks down. Her eyes meet his and-

 

-.-

 

Jill’s eyes well up with tears and she doesn’t know why. There’s something in his expression, love or maybe just understanding, that makes her breath catch and her chest ache and he fucking _stops_ it that just makes it worse. She slams a hand down on his chest, nails biting into his skin.   

“Don’t stop,” she says even as she feels the tears slide down her cheeks.

“Okay. Okay…”

His gaze doesn’t leave hers and she can’t make herself look away. She can’t make herself stop crying either so she kisses him instead and lets him roll her onto her back and cradle her face as he deepens the kiss. He doesn’t thrust as much as he grinds, slow and intense. Her body shakes from her tears or from pleasure she’s not sure. She sobs out something that could be his name when the kiss breaks.

His fingers find her clit and push her over the edge. Her back arches and she screams as her hands tear at the sheets. It’s barely pleasurable. It’s an overwhelming feeling that crashes over her and it’s less of a physical experience and more of a mental one. She knows she’s crying. He turns her onto her side and wraps around her, a poignant warmth to the coldness that’s spreading through her limbs.

She clings to the hand that wraps around her waist. By the time her mind finally clears, the sun is no longer coming through the window and his breathing is slow behind her. She feels emptied out. That look in his eyes shattered her apart and scooped out her insides and now there’s nothing left.

"Haar…” she says, voice soft.

“I’m here,” he says. “I’ve just been waiting for you.”

“I don’t…it’s too hard,” she says, voice cracking. She’s not going to cry because there’s no more tears but her eyes still sting.

“I know it is,” he says. “When you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Jill, in Haar's perspective, seems to dissociate during sex. To some extent she is, but she's using sex as an unhealthy coping mechanism.


End file.
